Flashbacks and Reflections
by okh-eshivar
Summary: CHAPTER 4 UP: "It was a truly frightening display; suddenly everyone in the room was reminded just how dangerous Ivy was. Thirteen guards rushed forward, sedative needles bared, while two others ran to aid the writhing, screaming Dr. Miller."
1. First Encounter

A/N: I really liked the Poison Ivy/ Magpie pairing in Arkham Asylum: Living Hell, so I decided to experiment. Please enjoy

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Ivy fingered the embroidered patch of fabric label sewn into the left breast of her inmate uniform absently, her long, elegant finger digging at its edges roughly. She was stretched out against the scratchy surface of her cot on her back, her long, toned legs drawn upwards slightly and her right arm beneath the head. Her stunningly emerald eyes remained focused at the dark ceiling of the lonely cell as her fingernail continued to work at the hard fabric. On the patch was her patient number, sewn in black twine, and _**that**_ name, sewn in red.

**Pamela Isley. **

The beautiful redhead sighed through her teeth with a certain twinge of irritation as an unwelcome burst of memory flashed across her mind for the briefest of moments. Darkness, and the smell of chemicals surrounded her temporarily as the flashback began to unlock memories from the blackest corners of her conscious, stealing her away into the past she wished she could forget.

_The pain. It was too much. She couldn't think through it. She could barely see through the shroud of agony that ripped through her every muscle, rippling in mighty waves. Muscle? No. Something deeper. Something more vital. Her cells seemed to shriek in inescapable anguish with every breath she took, as if something was tearing them apart, festering within them, multiplying. Maybe if she stopped breathing the pain would stop with it. Was she still breathing? The liquid and isolating glass tank she was apparently suspended in said otherwise. _

_There is a voice, deep and slightly hoarse, that emerges from the chaos. She does not open her eyes to see its owner; in fact, in knowing in her torn apart mind who it belonged to, she could only force her eyelids even tighter together. A different kind of pain began creeping into her throat. _

"_You're coming along splendidly, Pamela. I've begun to inject the bacteria that will alter the structure of the phosphate pairs in your DNA, and your body is starting to react to its presence. This pain you're probably feeling now is the product of this reaction. If you can still hear me, as I am relatively sure you can, you'll be glad to know that it seems you will be my first successful test subject to survive past the point at which the mutated DNA will begin to undergo forced replication within your cells. Congratulations, dear. We're halfway there."_

_If Woodrue's words awake any emotion within her, she does not show it. She is dying. She __**must**__ be dying. People simply did not survive an ordeal like this. She could not possibly survive. She…_

"_Pamela?"_

_She…_

_The last sensation she felt was a convulsing tremor that raked violently through her body, sending her writhing into the blanket of oblivion. If she could move she would had smiled at the frustrated and panicked yell that came from the man. Darkness enveloped her shortly after. _

"_**NO!"**_

The taste of poison pulled Ivy from the flashback, the soft tissue of her lower lip finally giving way to a small trickle of blood as she bit down roughly.

It was the reason why she hated it when people used that name to address her.

_**Pamela. **_

She was not Pamela. She was never Pamela. **Never.** Pamela was a human girl who let men abuse and torment her. Pamela was a weak sapling, struggling to survive an endless winter. Pamela was dead. That experiment, _that pain_ had stolen her away then.

The dead should be left to rest in piece.

She was not Pamela. She was Poison Ivy, hostess of the Green, protector of the Earth's brethren against the ignorant beast of man that threatens to tear it asunder. The new Eve, whom no longer needed an Adam to corrupt the righteous path she treads.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sloppy clattering of steel on steel as the large bolted door at the front of her cell pulled into itself, revealing two bulky guards cloaked in bright orange hazmat suits. Each of them held an electric stun rod, presumably for their own protection, and a tank of oxygen strapped to their backs. Between them stood a young woman with short, dull red hair and a slight grimace playing on her lips. She donned the trademark orange uniform of a patient and held a gray, folded sheet in her arms. Ivy pulled herself into a semi-upright position and cast the trio a curious glance, removing her hand from the abused label on her top. She folded an exposed leg (having cut the uncomfortable fabric of the uniform pants to her upper thigh) over the side of the cot, placing her tiptoes on the cold concrete floor and rested her hands on the ankle of her other leg which was pulled toward her body. The guards, having noticed Ivy's curious movements, tightened their grip around their weapons. The young woman strolled into the cell, not waiting for another rude order from the apprehensive pair, and threw the blanket onto the cot opposite of Ivy's.

"How come I gotta room with someone? I got my own cell, you know!" the girl spat, slapping her hands on her hips and scowling at the guards. She didn't seem to have seen her new bunkmate yet.

"Not anymore, Magpie, unless you'd rather suffocate in a cloud of fear toxin. Your cell was contaminated during Scarecrow's escape attempt, you know that. Play nice, Ivy." With that, the door slid shut, leaving the two to get 'better acquainted'.

Magpie sighed loudly, her back to Ivy. Suddenly, something seemed to click inside her mind.

"..Ivy?"

She looked over her shoulder, to meet the gaze of the beauty of a woman behind her. Her eyes softened almost immediately as the frown on her lips changed into a sleek smile.

"Well, _hello_ gorgeous."

A/N: I don't know why but whenever I see Magpie I immediately think 'lesbian' XD

BTW Magpie looks like her appearance in Arkham Asylum: Living Hell in this fic, not the trihawk appearance.


	2. Nightmares

**DISCLAIMER: Neither Poison Ivy or Magpie belong to me. So there.**

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_There is a throbbing pulse in my ears, like the beating of a heart. Like the sound of a troop of soldiers marching over the horizon. Like distant thunder. It rolls over me and sends a mighty shiver trembling up and down my spine. It fills my head, echoing through a maze of fragile blood vessels and sensitive nerve endings until it is all I can hear, all I can think. I don't know what is producing the noise, only that it is becoming increasingly difficult to tolerate. _

_I do not open my eyes for a long time, not even when I am awake. I'm always awake now. I used to crave sleep, as my only means to escape the constant pain my body suffered through day after endless day. My dreams offered sweet release to my battered mind, whispering promises of life and relief and giving me slivers of hope that kept me from losing my sanity. But now, after so much pain and agony, these once beautiful dreams have become nightmares, cunning demons humming lies and falsities into my ears, teasing and toying and biting and gnawing like a pack of bloodthirsty hounds. Sometimes, in my dreams, I am free again, released from this hell and let into a world of happiness and love where the people who surround me care more than anyone in the real world ever had. I am always happy in these dreams, always smiling. But then I wake up, and I'm still here, still covered by a constant blanket of agony, still teetering at the precarious edge of sanity, still betrayed, still __**dying**__. I hate those dreams the worst of all; the good dreams that make you think that you're finally free, only to release you into a cruel reality. Those are the worst dreams of all. The ones that give you hope; the ones that mock you and spit in your face when you wake up. _

_I can feel my body slowly rotting away all around me, every one of my cells screaming for release that refuses to come. I want to die. I've never wanted anything so badly as I want death to claim me now. The prospect scared the shit out of me; __**wanting**__ to die. I never thought I would ever want something most would find so grim, but I knew, in the deepest corners of my mind, that it would be my only escape route out of this hell. _

_I…want…death…_

_Please…_

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Ivy awoke to the concerned face of the redhead called Magpie, whose hands were gripped firmly around Ivy's shoulders in an attempt to shake her from her slumber. Even through the darkness of the cell, the thick furrow between the woman's eyebrows was clearly visible.

"Ivy, wake up already!" she growled, shaking her roughly and tightening her grip on her shoulders.

"M-Magpie, s-stop shaking me, I'm awake," Ivy hissed through pursed lips, grasping Magpie's arms and halting the movements of the worried woman. She withdrew her hands and collapsed onto Ivy's cot, her back arching over the plant woman's bare legs.

"Thank god," Magpie sighed melodramatically, rubbing her eyes with the sides of her hands and yawning deeply. "You were thrashing around so much in your sleep that you woke me up from the other side of the cell. Must have been a pretty bad dream to freak you out that much."

Dream?

Ivy propped her torso up on her elbows and bent her knees so her legs were folded one on top of the other. Magpie adjusted herself more comfortably on her legs, placing the crook of her neck on Ivy's folded knees and stretching like a cat. Ivy gazed absently at the woman as she snuggled into her legs, making herself comfortable on her cot, and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing slow and deep.

Yes, a dream.

"So, you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" Magpie playfully swatted at Ivy's foot, amused by the out of character lack of attention she was showing.

"Your nightmare, duh. What else?"

"Oh." Ivy thought for a moment, trying a grab the fleeting fragments of the escaping dream as the sudden current of consciousness begun carrying them away. Pain, she remembered. And a gnawing in her sanity.

"It…was another flashback. To when I was still being used as a lab rat for Woodrue. You might know him as the Floronic Man, now. He was the one who changed me into what I am today." Ivy stated somberly. "It was a point in my life that I can recall nothing but a constant agony. A time when I would have given anything for death to claim me." Magpie gazed at Ivy with a look of sympathy against her features as she listened.

They had been sharing the cell for a solid month now, in which time they had formed a decent bond with one another. It hurt a little to know that someone Magpie considered a friend had a whole dark history behind her that she didn't know about.

"Death, huh? That's…" she closed her eyes and searched for the words that were for some reason sticking in her throat. "Wow, that's horrible. It must have been pretty traumatic for you." She saw Ivy nod through the darkness.

"He took everything from me. My body. My blood. My life. My ability to have children of my own. Even my tears." She brought a hand to her face, her slim fingertips stopping just below her emerald eyes. "I haven't even the ability to cry anymore. People don't realize the amount of damage that can do to a person's psyche. To shed tears, even to those who are emotionally and mentally strong, is a release that can cleanse the mind of sadness, pain, hatred… Without it, all of that emotion just builds up inside of you, with no means of escape, and it rapidly turns to raw hatred. It's the primary reason why I'm what most people consider an angry woman. Whenever I feel negative emotions my mind registers it as anger and sends me into a violent rage. Bipolar disorder, they call it."

Magpie faced her with an upside down face as she spoke, twirling a stray strand of Ivy's long, fiery hair idly between her fingers and listening contently to her words.

"You don't seemed angry to me," she whispered quietly to the green skinned woman.

"That's because you have tread carefully. And I thank you for it." Ivy smiled warmly, sending a current of satisfaction running down Magpie's spine. She was glad she could make Ivy smile. She was so much prettier when she smiled.

"Do you hold a grudge against him? The Woodrue guy," she asked innocently.

Ivy looked away into the empty shadows that filled the rest of the cell, eyes suddenly sparkling with some newfound strength. "At one point I did. I had thought he turned me into some kind of monster, and after the immeasurable pain he had put me through, I was in no mood to look at the 'bright side of things'. Later on I realized that what he had done made me so much stronger, so much more resilient. It felt almost surreal. Like returning to one's roots, or finally finding your path after you had been lost for so long." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "And besides," she continued, "holding a grudge against someone like him would just be a waste of energy. Instead of dwelling on the past, I've how to act for a better future."

"I see…It's all pretty profound stuff if you ask me…" She swallowed the yawn rising in her chest, hoping Ivy didn't notice it. She did anyway.

"You should sleep. The last thing you want in this place is to be off your guard because of lack of sleep. It's dangerous to say the least," Ivy said. Magpie nodded absently and let the strand of hair fall back around Ivy's face as another yawn assaulted her train of thought.

"But I don't feel like getting up…" she whined childishly, curling up into a ball and resting a palm on Ivy's shin.

"Then stay there. I don't mind." Ivy turned on her side, carefully rotating her legs and allowing Magpie to return to her resting spot.

"Really?" Magpie whispered, a tinge of surprise weaved into her voice.

"I'm used to sharing small spaces with Harley. It's fine." Her toned was suddenly stained monotone. Nevertheless, Magpie couldn't hold back the grin creeping over her lips as she snuggled into her new-found friend and slipped back into a restful sleep. Ivy glanced at her briefly, recalling a sharp resemblance Magpie held with Harley in this particular position, and soon followed suit, exhaustion finally winning her over.

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**A/N: Okay, so I did my best keeping Magpie in the same character she was in the book. I have no idea how I did though ^^;**

**Review are always appreciated, of course.**


	3. Jade Tears

**A/N: Neither Magpie or Ivy belong to me, only to the comics empire DC. **

"Hey, Ivy?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like if we had all of the problems that people think we do?"

Ivy glanced at the redhead from the corner of her eye, her left hand hovering above the small hybrid plant steadily. Beneath her palm she could feel a radiating heat lifting from the dimly glowing leaves, a slight pulse only she could feel pulling up with it. A warm smile danced across her full, forest green lips as she gently brushed her fingertips against its vibrant stalk in a loving, motherly gesture. The plant shivered briefly in response and brightened its glow a bit, as if trying to please the woman further.

"…I think Gotham City would have long since been brought to its knees, if that were the case."

Magpie grinned victoriously and looked back to the magazine in her grip, fumbling through the pages half-heartedly and searching for something worthwhile to read.

"Yeah, that's what I said, too. Go figure, half the loons in this joint would make better shrinks than the idiot therapists they got trying to treat us now." She paused to savor the sweet, alluring scent that began wafting through the stagnant air of the cell and focused her attention on Ivy's back.

"H…Hey, Ivy, whatcha got over there?" She recognized the smell immediately; magnolias and lemon grass, the scent Ivy gave off when she was pleased with something or when she was having a pleasant dream.

"A hybrid I just created using traces of phosphorescent algae, acidic bacteria, and compounds in certain kinds of moss. This little beauty here has an incredible ability; it can store photons of light, like a solar battery, and release them later on in times of darkness. It can also radiate heat in cold temperatures, an automatic reaction to environments below 48 degrees Fahrenheit, as it's doing right now." Ivy turned to Magpie, grinning foxlike. "What, don't tell me you didn't notice that your shivering stopped over 20 minutes ago?"

Magpie perked up instantly, her position morphing from languidly sprawled out on Ivy's cot to sitting cross-legged with her palms pressing firmly against her shins. Honestly, she was more like a cat that she was a bird, as her name suggested. She was quiet for a moment, as if studying the atmosphere, before taking in a deep sigh and smiling contentedly.

"Mmmm…" she purred. "Yeah, I feel it now. That little plant warmed up this entire room, huh? That's pretty impressive, Ivy. Where did you get the stuff to make it?" The red head watched as the other woman gingerly picked up the pot and carried it over to the cot, holding it with the care a mother puts into cradling her newborn child. She placed it on the stiff covers, stroking its leaves and whispering words of endearment as she went. Magpie was instantly captured by the plant's faint, pulsing glow.

"Everything that went into creating her, I found around this cell, from the mold growing in the corners of the walls to the algae forming beneath the floors."

"Wow…" She was silent for a short time, entranced by the hypnotizing light. "That's… that's really amazing, Ivy. You really are something…"

"Oh…" Ivy whispered, a realization clicking in her mind. "So that's why you're called Magpie…" A wide, beautiful grin spread across her lips once again. "You have an unusual affinity with shiny, bright things, don't you?"

The other woman blinked, then shook her head in an attempt to dislodge her eyes from the mesmerizing object. She laid on her back, resting her neck on Ivy's seated legs, and began pawing at her long, brightly colored hair. It had become a regular action to her now, ever since that night a few weeks ago.

"Yeah, you got it. See, I used to work in a museum as a curator in the jewelry section of the place. Everything was so beautiful there, so bright and shining and pretty in the sunlight. I was in charge of keeping it all that way. You know, polishing them up all nice and making them all look like new. But it started to get to me. There I was, surrounded by all the things I've ever wanted in my life, and yet I couldn't have them! It really ticked me off! So one day I finally snapped and made off with about eight grand worth of jewels. Sure, I was caught, but I didn't really care because I had already gotten what I wanted and hid about a quarter of them in a cave I found over in Robinson Park."

Ivy shook her head in acknowledgement, the memory of the cave surfacing in her mind, and continued gazing intently into the hazel eyes of the woman on her lap. Their eyes locked for a moment; long enough for Magpie to notice how gorgeously emerald Ivy's were in the dim phosphorescent glow of her hybrid.

"So why did they put you in Arkham? Seems more like prison territory."

"Yeah, at first. Course, I didn't put the costume on until _after _my first breakout. And that's the problem with costumes. Once you put one on it's like the whole world turns on you…Plus, I went after Batman pretty soon after that. So, you know…" She gestured in the air with sorted fingers. "Batman—enemy, enemy—super villain, super villain—crazy person, crazy person—Arkham. You know the drill."

"Of course…" Ivy's voice trailed off into the warming air. For the following few minutes there was a comfortable silence between the two, a quiet recognition of the uncharacteristic calmness of the surrounding building. Everything, for the time being, seemed…at peace. At least for now.

Lord knows both women would have rathered it stayed that way forever.

Alas, however, the insanity of the place never remained tame for long. Their time for quiet contemplation was cut short when the solid steel door to their cell slid open, the sound of steel grinding against steel filling the echoing walls. From its wake three guards, all female and armed with oxygen masks and hazmat suits, stepped into the room and approached Ivy. Magpie sat up abruptly and snatched the glowing specimen from the cot they shared, moving as swiftly as possible to hide the object in the small space beneath the legs of the makeshift bed. The biggest woman seized Ivy by the arm roughly and spoke in a voice that told of a long history of chain smoking.

"Come on, princess. Time for your weekly therapy session with Dr. Miller."

Ivy winced under the woman's iron grip and took in a lungful of air through her teeth.

Magpie snapped upwards in a moment, raising herself onto her knees and pointing an accusing finger in their direction.

"Hey! You don't gotta be so rough with her, you big brute!" she snarled.

One of the guards stepped forward, waving a rod charged with a current of flickering electricity in her direction. "Back off, Magpie. You're not giving the orders here." She scowled, but lowered her finger and crossed her arms across her chest tightly in defeat nonetheless.

Ivy couldn't help but smile at the protectiveness of her friend. It felt good to finally have someone who genuinely cared for her, rather than simply lusting after her beauty.

"Now, let's go, Isley. Dr. Miller's waiting."

She snorted delicately and tugged her arm out of the guard's grasp, rubbing an alabaster green hand over the already darkening skin and following them out of the cell, her grace contrasting with their heavy-stepped clumsiness. Magpie watched the four warily, her eyes pinned on the back of the fiery haired beauty as she left. As if sensing her concern, Ivy glanced over her shoulder and nodded slightly, lips turned up at one corner and brow relaxed. At once, Magpie's shoulders fell and lost the angered intensity they had held. She exhaled loudly, mumbling something about a 'hostile work environment' and collapsing onto her back, burying her head into the pillow at its head. Inhaling through her nose, she savored the enticing scent of the missing woman. Roses and lavender. Two of her favorite smells.

Still, silently, she hoped Ivy would be all right with Dr. Miller. She absolutely _hated_ that man. Both of them did. Hell, everyone in this godforsaken place did. He was the therapist to the notably high threat patients; however, his methods could hardly be called therapeutic. Arkham knew it, too. Why else would he post over 15 guards in Miller's office during his sessions? Patients were known to lose their temper with him, but they hardly got very far before they were down on their stomachs, or headed to the emergency room.

Of course, it was Ivy she was talking about. She was sure she'd be fine, she knew how to handle herself in difficult situations without snapping too quickly.

At least, that was what she thought. Miller was a dangerous man, and was going to make that known to all who dwelled in this hellhole.

She just didn't realize how far he was willing to go until the three women returned, dragging a limp and broken Ivy behind them, her fiery hair covering her face and forest green tears rolling over her cheeks in thin streams. They tossed her on the steel floor of the cell like a worn out piece of trash, sneering and grinning like fat, spoiled children, and walked out without a word, typing in the code on the keypad outside that activated the sliding metal door to shut. As soon as the last inch slid closed, Magpie was up in a second, bounding over to Ivy's crumpled form and kneeling next to her, calling to her worriedly and placing a paling hand on her back.

"Ivy! What'd they do to you? What happened? Ivy?" When no response came, Magpie's expression fell even further and she gently, very gently, lifted her off the cold ground and turned her onto her back, propping her back up against her own chest and holding her close. Ivy, in turn, lifted a trembling hand and gripped a fistful of Magpie's orange patient uniform top, burying her head into her breast. She was silent for a long while, in which Magpie held her quietly and stroked her soft, long hair and whispered small words of comfort every now and again. She did not sob, did not once make a single sound, only let the tears run silently down her cheeks. Magpie didn't remember until after nearly 20 minutes of this what Ivy had told her just a handful of weeks ago.

"Ivy…I thought…" she paused, her tone smooth and nearly a whisper.

"…I thought you told me you couldn't cry…?"

Ivy lifted her head, the pained pull on her features tearing a hole in Magpie's heart. An almost sadistic smile washed over her vibrantly colored lips and her tears continued to stain her beautiful complexion.

"I…I didn't think…" she paused, biting back a sob that suddenly cut into her trembling throat.

"…Ivy?" She was shaking now, horribly. Magpie only hugged her closer.

"I…" Her entire body tensed up and curled into itself. She felt as if the woman was literally falling into pieces in her arms. This was a part of Ivy she had never seen, and she would bet money she was one of the people who would ever.

Still, it ripped her apart. When she pulled together, she would continue her questions. But for now, she would remain quiet, and wait until then.


	4. Dr Miller

**So this is a flashback to Ivy's encounter with Dr. Miller. R & R please!**

"Ah, Ms. Isley. Wonderful to see you again. It's been quite a hectic week, so you must forgive my tardiness on today's session." The sleek, gray- haired man leaned back precariously in his wooden chair, the desk in front of him creaking only slightly in response. His lips were pulled upwards precisely at the edges, the grin of a snake after having eaten a very satisfying meal.

"Mr. Nigma and I just had the most riveting conversation regarding the true origins of man's fear of failure. Tell me Ms. Isley, why do you think a person would deliberately step backwards in order to avoid a wall that may or may not be there?" He tapped his long, bony fingers together two at a time, the way movie villains did when pondering some heinous crime.

Ivy displayed no sign of acknowledgement at the thin man's question, opting instead to beat her sharp fingernails against the arm of her chair, to which both of her wrists were bound, and stare straight into the black eyes of the one addressing her. It was a game they played, unconsciously, subconsciously; who could withstand the weight of the other's gaze, who could survive the depth, the darkness of the other's eyes the longest?

In his eyes dwelled a thousand nagging, gnawing flies, buzzing around his skull, tapping on the backs of his eyeballs, whispering sweet promises and screaming horrible threats into his eardrums; sounds he had hardened himself to their incessant, inescapable drone years ago. Lifetimes ago, until the only thing that still echoed about his skull was the whimper each of them gave as he squashed them beneath his feet. In hers, a wall of ice, immeasurably thick, surrounded by an exoskeleton of solid rock and unbreakable steel; within this shield lay dormant a spark, dull and ever- pulsing, not yet visible but impossibly existent. Beyond that, shadows too thick and too deep to ever hope to extinguish heaved and writhed about, dangerous and eternal. Both man and woman acknowledged the precarious balance of the other's mind, however a respect for that balance was more likely than not, nonexistent.

He continued to hold her gaze, unfaltered and expression unchanging.

"Well, Ms. Isley? No answer? Surely you have some input to lay upon this subject, what with the way you can go on with how weak and how destructive us humans can be." His voice, tinged with a Russian accent, took a smug undertone and ended with a condescending chuckle, a signal Ivy took immediately as bait to try to set her off. That was the Miller method, as it was labeled affectionately by his patients; to push the minds and tempers of those sent to him off the cliff of their sanity and hope they land on their feet rather than being killed by the fall. More often than not, the result was the latter.

Ivy chose her words wisely, careful to harden her tone in such a way that would not express any real emotion. She had been seeing this man for seven weeks and within that comparably small amount of time she had developed a blooming hatred for him.

"I believe a man steps backwards, Dr. Miller, because of his inevitable fear of the unknown. When a man steps forward, he cannot possibly know whether he is stepping onto solid ground, or stepping over the edge of a precipice. If he is already standing on something firm and stable, why should he take the chance of falling to his death?"

Dr. Miller's grin broadened as the green skinned woman spoke, an action that caused Ivy to tread ever more cautiously. She suddenly became acutely aware that she had made her way inadvertently onto a very sensitive minefield.

He rose from his seat, slowly, with a stride that radiated silent dominance; it was another action blatantly meant to anger her, an action that to most would have gone unnoticed.

"Ah, now you see, Ms. Isley, that was exactly the logic that Mr. Nigma had exercised, during our discussion. However, I had offered a rather simple solution that he seemed to very much disagree with. What if you were to-" –He made a sudden grab for the arms of Ivy's seat, forcing her into a corner between the back of the chair and his own body- "-**force-** the man into a state of fear or unrest in the position he is in when he simply refuses to move forward? What if you dislodge that stability? What if it meant that the man would indeed plummet from the edge of a precipice, but still survive the fall? If there is clearly no other means to free this man from that irrational fear, wouldn't that be the best option?"

Ivy looked away from his eyes with a hint of nervousness, breaking contact for no more than a split second. It was enough to convey a storm of triggers he had pulled within that explanation and this proximity. She bit her bottom lip inconspicuously, drawing the bitter blood into her mouth.

At this distance she could spit the toxic stuff into his eyes and blind him forever, or aim it at his throat and burn a hole right through his larynx.

"Well, Ms. Isley? What you think of my solution?"

She swallowed the rage that was steadily building up in her throat and gritted her teeth together to hold back the frustrated scream that threatened to escape her.

"I think ... your sessions with the Scarecrow are beginning to get the best of you. The fact that you would use such ludicrous techniques on people in an asylum proves how empty that skull of yours must be."

He chuckled smugly. "Yes, perhaps that is the case. However…" he leaned even farther into her personal space, escaping the toxic touch of her right cheek by a hair's width, and whispered into her ear. From this distance, she could rip his carotid artery right out of his rigid, scrawny neck, with her teeth, and silence him forever. She could head butt the side of his skull and melt away the bone surrounding the sensitive gray matter. She could kick him in the groin and when he tumbled to the ground gouge his eyeballs out with her fingernails. She could…she could…

"… isn't that something like what Dr. Woodrue did to you?"

She froze.

"He _**knew**_ you would fall, and he knew you'd hit a few sharp rocks at the bottom, and he _**knew**_ you'd suffer, but I think it's save to bet that he also knew that you would inevitably survive the fall nonetheless. And I do suppose that if you survived the plummet and the impact, then it must not have been such a horrible fall to begin with."

Ivy dug her fingernails into the soft tissue of her palms and struggled to resist the overwhelming urge to scream. She would _**not**_ let him win this battle…

"I believe that you were weak, weaker than most, and Dr. Woodrue chose you because he recognized that. He wanted to make you strong, for your sake."

If looks could kill, the razor sharp glare Ivy was sending in this man's direction would have speared clean through his skull with no more than a sideways glance.

"So you think… that he did me a favor…?" She spoke through her teeth, wary of opening her mouth in fear of what might come out.

"Well, you're stronger now, aren't you? Perhaps you were too busy screaming and writhing about in the air to actually look down to see what was waiting for you at the bottom of that cliff? He saved you. He gave you a reason to live, essentially, didn't he?"

_It's more bait it's just more bait Don't fall for it Don't fall for it You can resist Resist it Resist it Resist…_

_Resist…_

"You should be grateful."

She lashed out then, teeth bared, throat raw with a seething rage, and a monstrous fire writhing within her eyes, that small spark exploding into an uncontrollable burn, melting the ice and contorting the steel. She took hold of his bottom lip and before he even realized she had him jerked her head down, then up again, tearing the flesh down to the gums and ripping the wall of tissue on the left side of his face entirely off. For a single moment she could see the good doctor's jaw line, a row of nicotine yellowed teeth; central incisor, lateral incisor, canine, first premolar, second premolar, a porcelain first molar, second molar, third molar, all visible through the bleeding hole that had once held his lip and cheek. A single moment of still shock, before he flung himself backwards, screaming and holding the side of his shredded face, blood pouring through his bony fingers. He grabbed for the edge of his desk, missed, and stumbled onto the floor, staining the light brown carpet a thick crimson. Ivy spat the chunk of flesh onto the ground in front of him and suddenly all of the frustration and rage began pushing itself out of her.

"You dare try to equate the agony I suffered through with the petty dealings of some emotional healer? I spent countless months feeling nothing but intolerable pain, a kind of torment your shallow mind couldn't even begin to comprehend!"

Within the cloud of rage the woman radiated, the color of her entire body began to change, alabaster tinted skin darkening to a threatening forest green, her mane of red-orange hair going a deep crimson and whipping about in the open air as if carried by some unseen energy. It was a truly frightening display; suddenly everyone in the room was reminded just how dangerous this woman was. Thirteen guards rushed forward, sedative needles bared, while two others ran to aid the writhing, screaming Dr. Miller.

"_He took everything from me! __**Everything**__!_ It would be the same as someone ripping out your soul!"

She began to thrash as the torrent of armed guards closed in all around her, grabbing at her shoulders and her legs, sticking her with needles from every which direction. Ivy only continued to scream, not in pain from the beating she was receiving or the overdose of drugs now flowing through her veins, but with a pure, violent, blistering anger. She kicked and scratched and bit and within the flurry of chaos that was steadily escalating consciously raised the toxicity of her skin to a tranquilizing level. Anything that touched her without direct protection was suddenly shot full of the powerful sedatives now circulating in her poison blood. Guards began falling one right after another, piling up on top of each other, surrounding the bruised woman.

Dr. Miller, still clutching the side of his face, rushed over to his desk and slammed a fist down on the small red button beside his keyboard, fat, wet tears pouring from his bloodshot eyes. Almost immediately, a hazmat team busted through the solid mahogany door, stunning weapons gripped in front of them. They attacked her simultaneously, first with a futile morphine injection, then with ten thousand volts of electricity that finally sucked the consciousness from her rigid, toxic form. The energy carrying her crimson hair wilted and her skin returned to its former color, if not even paler than before. Two trails of jade tears rolling soundlessly from her eyes, perfectly straight and undisturbed, as her neck lolled forward and her hair shrouded her face.

"How's he look?" One of the masked guards motioned to the others who were helping Dr. Miller to his feet, to no avail.

"Pretty bad. Somehow she managed to tear half his face off with her hands bound."

"How the hell-" the guard stopped when something with the consistency of a chewed up piece of gum found it's way under her step. She looked down to find the bloodied chunk of flesh.

"What'd she rip it off with her teeth or somethin'?"

"Most likely. Damn, that must have hurt."

"Jesus Christ, these people are messed up. Anything to show the common people whose boss, right? Get him to the ER stat. And you…" she walked over to Ivy and grabbed her roughly by the chin, yanking her head upwards with a gloved hand.

"You're lucky we can't put your pretty ass in solitary, princess. But I'm sure sharing a cell with that loudmouth is punishment enough." She unlocked the binds holding Ivy's wrists to the chair and dragged her limp form out the office door with the help of another guard.

**A/N: So, that's what Dr. Miller did to return Ivy to Magpie in the condition he did. Reviews are made of awesome ^^ **


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